


Spig Tea and the Wildflowers

by wretcheddyke



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Fluff, High Sex, Massive fluff, Recreational Drug Use, they basically do mdma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:53:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24646726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wretcheddyke/pseuds/wretcheddyke
Summary: Tingles run up and down her legs and Yaz thinks they sound like a xylophone even though they emit no sound. Her heart is a tambourine in her chest.I wonder what it feels like to have two?Her eyes drift to the Doctor’s chest and she thinks she can make out the slight thrumming under her breasts. There’s no voice in her head to stop her from reaching out and placing a hand over the Doctor’s sternum.Okay, definitely feeling it.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 12
Kudos: 80





	Spig Tea and the Wildflowers

Green sludge oozes from the cardboard box under the Doctor’s arm. It seeps into the grey fabric of her coat and congeals in a snotty patch next to the lapel.

“What’s in the box, Doctor?” Yaz eyes her curiously, slowing her chew around the custard cream in her mouth. She’d been scarce on the details of this particular trip, waving a hand a muttering something about picking something up. “It’ll be boring,” she’d said, “y’may as well just wait in the TARDIS.”

“Hm? Oh—It’s a Zaralathon Spig. Type of intergalactic slug. Very peaceful creatures.” She’s wearing white latex gloves and science goggles — the type Yaz had to wear in secondary school biology lessons when instructed to dissect a rotting chicken thigh Mr Radcliffe had bought from Tesco. “Actually regarded as healers on a lot a planets, funnily enough!” She slides the box down on to the central console, grabbing all manner of wires and tubes that spring from the console like ivy.

“Why funnily enough?” Yaz gets up from her perch for a better look.

“Well, their secretions are poisonous to a lot of species —including Timelords and humans. Hence the gloves.” She lifts her fingers and waggles them in Yaz's face.

“You mean that green stuff that’s all over your coat?”

_“Oh!”_ The Doctor looks down wide-eyed and attempts to jump away from her own clothes. Quickly pulling the garment off her shoulders, she folds the contaminated part under itself and chucks in on the floor. “Good job you’re ‘ere, Yaz! What would I do without you?” 

A surge of pride lights up inside her and she licks her teeth to rid the evidence from her face, “so why do you need an intergalactic slug?”

“Spig tea has psychotropic properties when consumed at the right temperature. Completely lethal at room temp but severed at exactly 71 degree celsius it’s, well, you’ll see.”

“Never had y’pegged as a hippy but makes sense now a think about it.”

The Doctor dances around the console flicking switched and pulling out an old fashioned set of weighing scales. Yaz has never been a fan of creepy crawlies. She’d managed to get over her fear of spiders but she still felt a jolt of dread whenever she came into contact with one. This, however, is far more than a regular slug or spider. Its thick body is flopped up the side of the box, its poisonous mucus darkening the cardboard. It’s riddled with tiny bobbles that glisten under the light, a sickly sage green, it looks remarkably like a tongue. A lurch of nausea overcomes her when the Doctor places two hands on its sides, the flesh indenting as if it had no bones at all. She scoops the green lump up and places it gently on the scales.

“Is it dead?”

“Hmmm. Not really,” she starts attaching various tubes and suckers to its wet skin, “a Spig’s life spans thousands of years. This one’s probably as old as I am! They don’t really… animate like a regular Earth slug. They exist somewhere between plant and creature.”

“But it feels?”

“Sure, in its own way,” she looks up at Yaz with bright eyes when the final sucker is attached, “ready?” She beams.

“For what?”

The Doctor pulls a lever to her right and the tubes start humming and a whistle starts blowing and then there’s steam streaking out from a kettle. “Mugs!” She dips down below the console to dig out a pair of mismatched teacups. One is clearly from the 1940s with sickly-pink, worn-out roses on the side and gold finishings on the rim. The other is homemade, crooked with an unintended thumbprint in the side, painted in garish stripes of orange, red and green. She holds one out just in time to catch a stream of tea that spurts from a tube-like a coffee machine. “Here,” the Doctor holds out the fancy mug, half-filled with a pale green tea that smells remarkably like mint. 

“Are you serious? You want me to do space-snail shrooms with you?” Yaz eyes the liquid.

“Oh,” She pulls the tea back. “Technically it’s a lot different to psilocybe mushrooms, much safer in regards to bad trips. Really it’s more comparable to MDMA but… s’pose it does still count as a psychedelic. Sorry,” she scrunches her face up, that face she always does when she made a social snafu, “always forget about you humans and your changing opinions on things. If this were the 80s, we’d be three sheets to the wind at a Zygon music festival by now—”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Yaz assures her, reaching for the mug, “if am gonna do drugs, may as well do ‘em with a Doctor,” she smiles. As much as the idea makes her nervous, it’s the type of anxiety Yaz always feels around the Doctor. That strumming energy that shakes her bones. She used to chalk it up to the dangerous nature of their travels — just an adrenaline junkie waiting for her next near-miss on a thrilling adventure. But she’s been noticing the feeling more and more. Like when the Doctor had barged into her room while she was drying her hair and sat on her bed just to chat; or when they’d had Sunday dinner at Graham’s house and her heart leap when the Doctor had passed her the roast potatoes. Even Yaz doesn’t like potatoes _that_ much. She was still trying to make sense of the feeling but, like a lot of things in her life since meeting the Doctor, she decided it was best not to overthink it.

“I promise it’s not dangerous, Yaz. I’d never put you in danger,” the Doctor’s face is stern and Yaz knows she’s deadly serious.

Even if she knows it’s not quite true, Yaz lets herself believe it, “I know, Doctor. I trust you.”

Their cups knock together in an unsatisfyingly dull clank and the Doctor’s face resumes its usual thrill. “Cheers!”

“Cheers,” Yaz smiles and brings the mug to her lips. It doesn’t just smell like mint, the odd mix of hot tea and cool peppermint fills her senses and slips down her throat silky smooth and moreish. “That’s… weirdly nice.”

The Doctor finishes her half mug in one gulp so Yaz resumes her sipping and finishes the lot.

“Always reminds me of after eights! Maybe we should get chocolate—nothin’ better than chocolate—Oh! Popcorn maybe? No—too bitty—always gets stuck in my teeth.”

The doctor rambling never fails to lull Yaz into a sense of unwinding. She lets the words wash over her as watches the way her mouth moves and her expression change. _I must be feeling it already,_ she thinks as the Doctor’s hair moves and she notices the little curl from the humidity outside and it sends a wave of… something through her.

“Right. Twenty minutes to kill before that kicks in,”— _okay, maybe not_ —“let’s get somewhere safer than Zaralathon — don’t fancy going up against another giant sloth today. Any requests?”

“Somewhere pretty.”

The Doctor’s eyes light up and suddenly she’s off, twirling about the TARDIS, a loose ribbon around a maypole. The TARDIS rumbles to life beneath her feet and Yaz feels like kissing the floor as the central crystal rises and falls. _You mad, mad, wonderful machine. I see why she loves you._ She clings to the side of the console, jolts of turbulence shaking her legs as the ship rides the waves of the time vortex. She feels herself a seaman on the choppy open ocean, unexplored space all about her, dangerous but hers. By the time they land fifteen minutes later, she’s bursting at the seams with adoration.

“C’mon,” the Doctor takes her hand in her and pulls her towards the doors, “let’s see.”

_Yes. Yes, let’s see,_ Yaz thinks as she watches their interlinked hands. When the door creaks open, pink sky is the first thing she sees, expansive and breathtaking. The clouds are scarce but glow with an orange hue. Warm sticky air hits her skin and the sweet smell of pollen covers her tongue.

“Doctor…” she’s awestruck.

“Y’said pretty,” she looks across at Yaz's wide eyes and they’re still holding hands.

“It’s beautiful.” Long grass, as tall as Yaz's hips, covers the land before them, intermixed with an orchestra of wildflowers, all the colours she’s ever seen and few she swears feel brand new. They’re in the middle of a field so large Yaz can’t see its perimeter. She takes a few steps in and lets the long strands tickle her palms, every single one feels like it’s greeting her with a friendly hello. When she gets a few metres away from the Doctor and TARDIS, they disappear from her periphery and she feels alone. It doesn’t scare her. In fact, she is filled with a sense of peace as if this field is and always has been her home.

She turns to see the Doctor observing her with a soft smile, the first signs of the loosening of thread glitter about her eyes. Before she can say anything, Yaz sinks backwards to the ground, her fall cushioned by piles of soft grass and the Doctor disappears out of sight as she’s consumed by the planet. All she sees are the tips of grass blades and the pastel pink sky.

And then the Doctor’s face looming over her, “hi.”

“Lay with me,” her voice sounds so smooth on her tongue, “look at the sky.”

The Doctor sinks into the grass too, looking at Yaz instead on the sky.

“Look,” Yaz says again and finally she does.

“If you go six hundred thousand miles that way you’ll reach Vonzaistea,” she points a long finger at the sky to Yaz's left, “they have two heads and everything they say rhymes.”

Yaz laughs a deep belly laugh that shimmers right through her body, “you’re joking.”

“I never joke about rhymes, Yaz,” she says in earnest and Yaz finally turns to look at her. _God, she’s beautiful._ Her skin looks warm under the pink sky and her hair falls back against the ground.

Tingles run up and down her legs and Yaz thinks they sound like a xylophone even though they emit no sound. Her heart is a tambourine in her chest. _I wonder what it feels like to have two?_ Her eyes drift to the Doctor’s chest and she thinks she can make out the slight thrumming under her breasts. There’s no voice in her head to stop her from reaching out and placing a hand over the Doctor’s sternum. _Okay, definitely feeling it._

At first, the texture of her shirt shocks her, it’s soft and rough all at once and feels like static on her palm. Then she notices the soft flesh of her breasts either side of her hand and the hard bone in between. It’s warm and Yaz wants to sink into it just as she did the grass. The thrumming of her twin hearts feels like the echoing of life itself. It’s rhythmic and constant — a soothing contrary force to the chaos of their adventures. 

Suddenly she’s up, standing over the Doctor’s sprawled out body. Her skin is clammy and the warm heat contrasts with the silver shiver that ripples through her body like mercury.

“Where y’going?” The Doctor looks almost melted into the ground, at one with the planet itself.

“Stand with me.” As soon as the Doctor takes her waiting hand, colour erupts from the contact. It rushes straight up her arm and into her chest and fills her with a feeling of contentment.“Your hands are so soft,” she looks down at their interlinked fingers, “I’ve never noticed before.” When she looks up into the Doctor’s eyes her pupils are wider than she’s ever seen them. Filled with an inky blackness that eclipses golden irises.

“Y’eyes are so big. Biggest eyes I’ve ever seen. Well, not the biggest. I’ve seen some really big ones, not always as pretty as yours though. Yours are pretty,” the Doctor murmurs and she realises hers must be of a similar disposition.

An overwhelming feeling of love hits her like a tonne of bricks. Before she really considers it she pushes her fingers into the Doctor’s blond hair. _Am I allowed to do that?_ Too late now. She feels the silky strands tickling, running exhilarating lines across the skin where finger becomes hand. She feels the warmth of her scalp and every hair follicle under her fingertips.

“S’nice,” the Doctor whispers—eyes fluttering and head pushing back into the touch—and the whisper dances over Yaz's cheek. _I wanna feel all of her._

Yaz lets her hands fall back to her side, “Let’s run.”

She looks confused for a moment and then is overtaken with glee. “Oh, _brilliant!”_

There’s a rush of warm air as she takes off past Yaz and then they’re flying. The grass whips against her fingers in little stinging kisses as they gallop through the greenery. The tree up ahead, the only one for miles, become her destination and she feels like she’s running to greet an old friend.

She wraps her arms around the trunk and swings backwards, her braid dangling down and pulling gently at the follicles and that sends a shiver down her spine too. “Hello, tree,” she whispers and then laughs. _I’m talking to a tree._ It stands tall above her, quiet and ageless, the only being for miles. _Are you older than her? Lonelier? Probably not. I wonder what you’ve seen._ It feels like standing before an ancient being, knowledge seeping from the branches, a silent witness or a perhaps a guardian of the land.

The Doctor approaches her, another ancient being, yellow flower in hand.

“Nice flower,” she smiles. Her heart beats so loudly in her chest she’s sure the Doctor must hear it.

The stem of the flower sends goosebumps down her neck when the Doctor pushes into her hair. She’s got both hands up by her head and it brings her face close with Yaz's. Heat or love or _something_ radiates from her. _I wanna feel all of her._

She slides her hands over the Doctor’s ribs and she feels each one beneath her fingers. Like some musical instrument, she wishes the play the ivory keys. The Doctor drops her arms and looks down at where Yaz holds her, thumbs resting below her breasts, t-shirt ruffled. Her breathing’s heavy, maybe from the running, maybe from the contact, and Yaz feels every inhale as her ribs expand.

She starts to rub back and forth along the contours of her ribs. The Doctor sighs at the feeling, her relaxed body swaying back and forth with the motions as if she were being rocked by the ocean.

“D’you think the tree minds we’re in her field?” Yaz asks as she continues to rub.

The Doctor pushes her palm into the trunk next to Yaz's head and looks up at the branches. “Nah, I think she’s happy to see us,” she says. She looks down into blown pupils when Yaz fingers the clasp on her bra. “I’m sure she gets lonely by herself.”

“Do you get lonely?”

“I’m not lonely now,” the Doctor licks her lips and glances down at Yaz's mouth. _I wanna lick her teeth._

“Me either,” she replies.

She pushes off the trunk and grabs Yaz's hand. Before she knows it they’re running again and Yaz can see the TARDIS up ahead. It looks so much smaller here in the great expanse of the field like a child in a crowd. _Small but mighty._ She feels herself silly for it but Yaz is overcome with pride for the little blue box. As they run towards it at full pelt, each step sends a judder of pleasant fire through her limbs.

At the last second, they swerve—Yaz going left, the Doctor going right—disappearing from one another for the briefest of moments as the TARDIS comes between them. In the moment of separation, Yaz feels the longing and the trust she always feels for the Doctor magnified. And when she sees her again on the other side, she feels relief and glee and mirth as if they’d spent a thousand years apart.

They crash into one another, bodies flush and then apart and then they’re spinning, holding onto each other’s forearms, faster and faster and faster. The sky twirls above them and Yaz loses all sense of direction. She can’t tell what’s left and what’s right, what’s up and what’s down — it makes her feel like she’s in deep space again. Devoid of gravity.

The grass catches them when they fall. Two bundles of laughter, rolling among the flowers. Yaz thinks the flowers must be laughing too, the way the sound echos. She rolls over to face the Doctor who’s looking up at the sky again. It turns her hair pink. “What planet are we on?”

“Thiladae,” she says and Yaz can see the vein in her neck. “It’s usually populated by an ancient race of sky creatures.”

“What happened to them?” Her fingers trace the slight bulge where her carotid pumps. _Double pulse._

“Nothing. They’re still here, up there somewhere,” she scans the skyline as if she might spot one if she were lucky, “they migrate east when the grass gets this long. Easer to spot food where it’s shorter.” Yaz can feel the vibrations from her voice under her fingers and they radiate right up her arm. “S’nice,” she looks round to face Yaz, “your hands feel amazin’.”

“Your eyes look like coals,” she laughs and then the Doctor slips her hand across the back of her thigh and pulls until Yaz is straddling her.

“So do yours,” she laughs back, “I can see the stars in them.”

“It’s daytime,” Yaz whispers with a frown. She isn’t sure why she’s whispering but the Doctor’s finger running along her bottom lip as if to shush her might have something to do with it.

“I always see the stars in them,” pinches the lip under her thumb ever so lightly and it fees so much like pure pleasure that Yaz sighs, “they’re my home.”

The only way Yaz can think to express the love that rolls through her is to lean down and push her mouth against the Doctor’s. Her lips are softer than a feather and smoother than silk. She moans almost immediately at the sensation and the Doctor wastes no time kissing her back. _I’m kissing her._

Their tongues meld together like lava. It’s hot and wet and Yaz feels every tastebud and tastes every inch. She licks the top row of teeth and they’re hard and slippery. When she pulls away the Doctor is laying with her eyes shut and her mouth open, entirely blissed out. It’s a breathtaking image and all Yaz can do is lean back into lick into her mouth again. “I wanna touch you,” she says, “I wanna touch you everywhere.”

“Are y’sure?” She asks, getting up to rest on her elbows.

Yaz's eyes drop back to her chest. Her nipples are hard under the fabric so she traces her fingers across one. It causes the Doctor to draw a sharp breath. “I’m sure,” she nods but the Doctor is already lost to pleasure, face screwed up and eyes tight shut, as Yaz pinches at her nipple.

She pushes her back down into the grass by her breasts, palming them just to feel the warmth and the softness. It’s not rushed, Yaz feels it possible to live in this moment forever, not like time has slowed or sped up, more like it simply no longer exists. _Is that why she likes this so much?_ “Can I take it off?” She asks as her fingers move down to the hem of her shirt.

The Doctor nods, “please.” It slides off with ease and the Doctor unclasps her bra without a second thought, discarding it on the pile as easily as they’d discarded their old relationship for this new one. She lays back with her hands crossed behind her head, not a trace of shame or insecurity to be seen. Her body is pale and glows under the orangey-pink hue of the sky, it’s scattered with various moles and birthmarks— _are they called birthmarks for Timelords?_ Her breasts are small and her nipples are pink like the sky and Yaz's first instinct is to run her tongue over one. The hardened nub against her soft tongue tastes like sweat and skin. It elicits a low groan that vibrates right through them, so much so Yaz's isn’t sure who it originated from.

When she moves to the other side she tries sucking, drawing the flesh into her mouth and lightly scraping with her teeth until the Doctor in whining. She can feel the twin beats of her hearts under her lips and it sounds like morse code she’s so close to deciphering.

A rush of pleasure is sent scattering across her when she feels a slight pressure push up against the apex of her legs. When she looks down the channel of the Doctor’s body she sees a hand snaking between her legs, cupping herself over her trousers. The pressure had been the Doctor’s knuckles accidentally brushing against her as she touches herself. _The Doctor’s touching herself._ That makes her dizzy. She takes the opportunity to shed some of her own clothes as she watches the Doctor press four flat fingers into her crotch above her trousers. They’re hardly rhythmic movements, more like inconsistent groping; each one sending little shudders through her. Her cheeks are slightly flushed but she can’t tell if it’s from the sensations or from Yaz watching her. She doesn’t look embarrassed. In fact, she seems almost wild with it—like she’s enjoying Yaz's enraptured eyes on her.

Once her bra is off the Doctor abruptly stops her ministration to sit up. Her warm hands hold Yaz's back and she draws one of Yaz's tits into her mouth. _Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck._ She’s never experienced the level of pleasure that bursts from the point of contact. Her nipples have never been especially sensitive but in this heightened state, she feels like she could come just from this. She moves to the other sides and flicks her thumb over the wet one and that makes Yaz clench around nothing.

“ _Fuck,_ Doctor.” She feels her smile and laugh against her skin but it’s not smug and Yaz smiles too. The safety and contentment that surrounds them feel tangible as if she could run her hands over it and touch the fizzy aura. The grass stands high above their heads and they find themselves cocooned in a tiny world of their own. 

She wraps her arms around the Doctor and draws her into a hug, bringing her earlobe into her mouth and feeling the cool metal of her piercing on her tongue. The feeling of their breasts pushed together, skin on skin, is novel and she pulls back to look. It’s all soft flesh and contrasting skin tones.

When she looks up the Doctor is watching her and she’s suddenly hit with the reality of what they’re doing. _I’m foolin’ around in a field with the Doctor._ A laugh bubbles out from deep within her and ripples through the air like music. The sound and the sensation is so unreal it makes her laugh again and soon they’re both in hysterics. “I don’t know why I’m laughin’,” she manages between breaths.

“S’not funny,” she laughs, nose scrunching and tendons pulling tight across her neck. Yaz can’t help kissing her exposed throat as her fingers find a home at the base of her skull.

She grunts when their bodies hit the grass again and she whispers against her pulse point, “I really wanna fuck you.”

The Doctor gives a guttural moan, “please,” and stokes Yaz's back and it sends tingles across her skin.

The vibrations from the zip on her trousers rattle through her bones. She pulls the fabric back to see a neat pair of yellow underpants littered with cartoon strawberries. She’s not sure what she expected but this feels right, somehow. _Of course,_ she thinks and is struck with the feeling she could’ve guessed she’d wear yellow pants with strawberries if only she’d thought long and hard enough.

There’s a small patch of blonde hair poking out the top of the elastic waistband which Yaz is compelled to rub her thumb over. It’s rough under her skin and she feels the Doctor’s abdominals tense with anticipation. Her fingers push below the material and texture sends zings up her palm, she can’t resist dragging her nails through the hair just to _feel_ it.

_“Yaz,”_ the Doctor pulls her from the feeling as she squeezes her thighs together, “that’s nice but… please go lower.”

She smiles and pushes her fingers down until they’re greeted by a pool of wet heat. _Fuck._ It coats her instantly and she draws it up till she finds the small bundle of nerves above. She starts to lazily rub there, enjoying the feeling of her on her hand almost as much as the Doctor enjoys the ripples of pleasure that flood her nerve endings.

Her chest heaves and she leans down to lick her clavicle and that familiar beating is there. She pushes her ear up against the Doctor’s bare chest to listen to it speed up the faster her fingers move. She swears she’s almost cracked the code. _What are you trying to say?_

When the constrictions of the clothes around her wrist become tiresome she pulls her hand out, much to the Doctor’s disappointment. “Can I take these off?” She asks as her fingers slip into her waistbands. She nods emphatically, all traces of humour replaced by dark stormy eyes.

Her legs seem to go on forever, all pale and milky. Thin but not necessarily toned which is a surprise — Yaz knows how fast she can run. _Timelord biology._ Once they’re off the Doctor immediately spreads her legs for her, bare ass on the grass. Yaz is far too consumed by her to think of any hazards regarding that. Her cunt is dripping and spread. She looks the perfect picture; exposed; resting on her elbows impatiently; pupils wide and dark.

“You’re beautiful,” she stares, “I’ve never seen anythin’ like you before.”

“You’ve not even seen me come yet,” she smiles darkly.

“Hmm,” she resists the attempt at goading and strokes her inner thighs, “I betta save m’compliments then.”

She shuffles back on the grass and dips her head down to kiss her legs. The Doctor gives up on her position on her elbows and flops back on the ground, her fingers finding purchase in Yaz's hair. They grip suddenly and pull at the hair follicles when Yaz's tongue pushes over her labia. _Hair pulling. That’s nice._

She laps at the silky skin, relishing in the piquant, salty taste as her musk fills her senses. _That’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted._ She swears right then she’d give up food for this. The body below her jolts when she probes at her clit, swiping it experimentally and watching her writhe. Eventually, she closes her lips around it and sucks and that draws a cry from the Doctor’s throat. _Best sound in the universe._ When her jaw starts to ache even the ache is pleasant — warm from her temple to her neck on each side, like some invisible ghost is cupping her face.

Despite this, she switches methods and crawls her body to kiss her, ignoring the Doctor’s pitiful sigh.

“Y’okay?” The Doctor asks when they break.

“Yeah, s’just my jaw.”

The Doctor cups her face and rubs at the muscle with her fingertips and it feels _way_ too good for just a massage. Their eye contact is so intense, she can feel herself sinking into it so she pushes her fingers back into her folds without warning and watches the pleasure rush through her pupils. It’s so vivid she didn’t think eyes could be so expressive.

She kisses her back into the ground, her fingers teasing at her entrance, “Can I—“

“Yes, yes, yes,” she breathes.

Yaz pushes a finger in slowly—

_“More,”_ she interrupts.

Yaz can’t help chuckling. She draws out and lines up another till she fills her, tight around two fingers. _Fuck. Fuck, I’m inside you. I’m inside you._ A part of her wonders if the Doctor hears that, somehow, because her cunt clenches each time she thinks it.

She’s never felt so utter connected to someone; physically; mentally; emotionally. When she starts pumping her finger inside, she watches the Doctor’s face screw up but they keep eye contact. She feels as though they’re having a whole conversation but no words come to pass bar the Doctor’s gentle whines.

_“Faster,”_ she breathes and lifts her chin to ask for a kiss and Yaz obliges. When their tongues connect it’s the same sweet shock as the first time. The rapid pumps of her wrist make her whole forearm burn but she doesn’t stop—couldn’t if she wanted to—not with those noises coming from the Doctor’s mouth. One continuous whine reverberates around her mouth and her hips buck frantically against the wet sounds. When she tumbles she tumbles hard, two bare legs wrapping around Yaz's waist— _“oh god, oh god, Yaz,”—_ and drawing her close while her hips writhe through the waves. Her cunt tightens over and over again around Yaz's finger, eventually slowing to a gently pulsing as she calms down. _She said my name when she came._

Yaz rests half flush to her, half on the grass and watches her breathing even out and the state of bliss evident on her face.

“That were amazin’,” she murmurs, “easy to top five orgasms ‘av ever had.”

“Bet y’say that to all the girls,” she laughs and traces a finger around the Doctor’s nipple which makes her shudder.

“Not true,” she smiles, “don’t always like ‘em so I’ve not had many good ones.”

“Well I’m glad y’like ‘em now,” she pinches at her tit absentmindedly, “‘cos I really like watching you have one.”

“I think I like you watching,” her voice goes a bit quiet when she says that. “Bet you look beautiful having one. Pretty face all scrunched but with total pleasure. Yeah, I can see that.”

That would usually make Yaz blush but instead, she just feels wanted. And wet. She realises while the Doctor was talking her hips had started guiding down against her thigh without her realising.

“Wanna find out?” Her hands start unbuttoning her jeans before the Doctor can even vocalise her approval. She stands to push them down and for a brief moment her head pops up above the grass blades and she reminded of a world outside their nest. The sun is starting to set and the sky is turning crimson where the sun bleeds and dies on the horizon. _When will this end? I don’t want it to end._ The thought crosses her mind for a second but it’s gone as quickly as it arrived when she sees the Doctor looking up at her naked body.

“Come sit in my lap,” she commands and Yaz obliges, sitting between her thighs and hooking her legs over her hips. “Hi,” she says sweetly when they’re at eye level again.

“Hi.”

She bushes two thumbs over Yaz’s nipples as nuzzles in to kiss her neck, “you smell like cedar-wood.”

“It’s perfume,” she gasps when nimble fingers pinch simultaneously.

“I like it,” she inhales, “…a lot. I think that’s my favourite smell.” That makes Yaz's heart feel warm in her chest. “Can I fuck you now?”

“Please do,” she whispers like its a secret. She supposes this is a secret. Their secret, binding them together amongst the flowers. She moans when the Doctor’s fingers push into her heat, it feels so _good_ she knows she won’t last long. “ _Fuck_. It’s so much.”

“Too much?” The Doctor asks.

“No, no. It’s perfect. Literally perfect.” She claws at the Doctor’s back and rests her chin on her shoulder as she starts to fuck into her.

“You feel so good, Yaz,” she breaths and Yaz knows she can feel her clench around her fingers when the words caress her ears, “I love being inside you. I love feeling you.”

In any other scenario, the word _love_ might catch her off guard but right now it just feels right. It feels natural. The Doctor, _her Doctor,_ sends waves of vermillion heat through her whole body. She feels a string pulling tight in her stomach and a hand on her lower back encourages her to rock her hips against the fingers deep within.

_“Oh, Doctor,”_ she groans and pulls her body closer with her ankles so close their cunts are almost touching, _“you’re so good.”_ She can feel every inch of skin, the air on her back, rough ground on her thighs, the Doctor’s nipples against hers — all of it serve to push her closer and closer to the edge.

Her orgasm starts without warning and her legs clamp around the Doctor’s waist. She’s never come this hard sat up before and she’s not prepared when her whole body turns to jelly as she writhes, her head collapsing against the Doctor’s chest. Pure ecstasy rushes down every limb; through every nerve; every skin cell; a whole body on fire. She’s pretty sure she squirted but that’s just from the wet sounds slapping against her as the Doctor keeps up her pace. The pounding of her hearts below her ear boom like stereos and Yaz at long last cracks the code and unveils their secret message. _I love you. I love you. I love you._ She smiles into the warm clammy skin as the final waves of pleasure ebb.

After a long moment of resting with her cheek pressed against her chest while the Doctor strokes her hair, Yaz pulls back to look at her. The first things she notices are the stars glittering in her eyes. The second is the inky blue of the sky around them, not a lick of pink or orange or red to be seen. “It’s dark,” she says.

“It is,” the Doctor smiles at the obviousness.

The third thing she notices is the cool night air on her back and she shivers, “It’s cold.”

“TARDIS?”

Yaz nods. They detangle their bodies and pick up the strewn-about clothes, no doubt losing some items in the weaves. She giggles as the Doctor breaks out their nest and scampers through the grass fully nude, blue light bouncing off her pale skin. “Never pegged you as a streaker,” she calls after her and her voice sounds so loud in her ears it’s as if it belongs to someone else. The ground is spongy underfoot, soil and moss digging between her toes.

She turns back to smile, face as bright as the moon in the sky. “Love streaking, me. Being at one with nature, n’all that.” She drops the clothes when she approaches Yaz, “learning a lot about me today, aren’t’y?”

Yaz's bare back presses up against the cool wood of the TARDIS as the Doctor backs her up against it. She can feel every ridge in the wood, every splinter prickling her skin. “Guess so,” she gasps when the Doctor cups her.

“I never got to see your face,” her free hand lifts her chin, “y’had your face on my chest when you came.” The heel of her hand rubs lazy circles over her mound.

“You’ll have to try again then,” her breath hitches when deft fingers glide across her clit, “not out here though, I’m still cold.”

“I can see,” the Doctor laughs into her neck.

“Trust me, that’s all you,” she sighs into the little nips, fingers sinking into blonde strands and then she gives them a harsh tug.

The Doctor’s head lurches back with the pull and she looks into her eyes with slightly confused arousal, “what was that for?”

Her grip is still strong in the back of the Doctor’s hair, “I dunno,’ she says, “do you like it?”

She swallows dryly. “Yeah. I think so.”

Yaz tugs again and the Doctor sighs. She pulls down until the Doctor gets the gist and starts sinking to her knees. _Fuck, that’s hot._ She doesn’t eat her out right away — simply looks up under her lashes for Yaz's next command. It comes in the form of two guiding hands, pulling her head towards her cunt until her tongue comes into contact with warm folds. The night has made the tip of the Doctor’s nose cold and it sends a shudder right through her when it presses up against her clit.

She licks her once, twice, three times. Each one sending flutters of pleasure up her body. Then suddenly she’s getting to her feet, “What—?”

“Y’taste too good,” she says simply and grabs her wrist, “I can’t eat you out for hours out here, it’s only gonna get colder,” and she’s picking up their clothes again.

“I… never thought I’d hear y’say that,” she pushes off the wood to follow her towards the door.

Atop the TARDIS, perched on the roof, a tiny sparrow coats its feathers. The bird looks at her with curious eyes and she looks right back. _Hello_ , she thinks, _thank you for having us._ She can’t read its expression but Yaz thinks it smiles back as if to say, _you’re welcome, friend._ And with a fluttering, it disappears into the night. The open door spills rays of honeyed light onto the moon-kissed flowers. She lets a buttercup kiss her fingertip as she takes one last look at her new favourite planet, then says goodbye.

Being in the console room after the night air reminds her of coming home after a night out. The music that was never playing still buzzes through her. It’s warm and bright and the central crystal functions like a wood-burning stove, heating their naked bodies. _Thank you,_ she thinks as her fingers caress the console like she’d watched the Doctor do so many times. _I understand now._

Yaz is vaguely aware of the knowledge she should be self-conscious, stood in the console room entirely naked. But she just feels peaceful, like this is exactly where she’s meant to be. Like her whole life has been leading to this moment.

“Can I take you to bed, Yasmin Khan?”

Like those words are the words she was born to hear. “I’d literally like nothing more.”

She notices every detail. All the small things become her favourite parts; walking down the TARDIS corridors while the Doctor chatters as if they’re not on their way to a bedroom to have sex. It’s so _normal_ and yet so surreal.

“…anyway, turns out they were artificially growing humans to experiment on—feel like I’ve told y’this one already? Never mind—Oh! This one,” she stops in front of an unremarkable-looking door of the left, “you’ll love this one.”

The room is a life-size version of a sofa fort. Cushions pad the walls and sheets hang off them haphazardly. The floor is all mattress and as they slip under a sail they’re enveloped in linen. A lantern fills the space with soft light. The Doctor throws herself down atop the quilts.

“It’s a fort,” Yaz smiles and her voice is muted by the absorbent materials. She screams when the Doctor grabs her right leg and sends her toppling onto the memory foam mattress and falling feels like flying. Before she can scold her, the Doctor is licking and kissing up her side, across her ribs and up to her tits. “I want your mouth,” she sighs.

“Y’ve got it,” the Doctor smiles around her nipple.

Yaz pulls her hair again, forcing her to look up into her eyes, “not there.”

The Doctor shuffles back without further delay. She pushes Yaz's knees apart and spreads her labia with her fingers before dipping down to run her tongue through warm heat. It feels so unbelievably _good_ Yaz is immediately on track for another orgasm. Incoherent thoughts flash through her mind; green tea; blue boxes; cat nurses; flowers and sparrows; roast potatoes; the Doctor; amber light; the Doctor; the Doctor.

_Fuck_. Her thighs clamp around the Doctor’s head and by some unimaginable feat she’s sure she couldn’t do sober, she rolls them both to straddle her face. _This is new._ She’s never sat on someone’s face before but she’s so _close_ and she’d acted before any insecurities could worm their way to surface. She grinds down, frantically riding the Doctor’s open mouth, gasping as firm hands try and still her hips so she can suck her clit, staring up at her under her lashes. She comes with her fingers in the Doctor’s hair, using her head as an anchorage point.

When she slumps to the side the Doctor is breathless with a glistening chin. “Beautiful—knew it.”

Yaz pants through her smile on the sheets and then, “experimenting on humans for what?”

“Oh, New Earth was overrun with an influx of settlers. They needed test subjects to find cures for all the new diseases,” she wipes her chin.

Yaz pulls her on top so the Doctor straddles her stomach, her wet cunt presses just below her belly button, “you’ve had such a mad life.”

“So’ve you.”

“Yeah, s’pose I have,”— _all thanks to you_ —“I can’t wait for the rest of it.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Literally starvin’.”

Ten minutes later there’s a tray of breakfasts foods between them on the sheets: pancakes and eggs and toast and fruit and cinnamon buns. “Y’not serious…”

“What? Y’can’t knock it till y’ve tried it, Yaz.”

“I’m not eating marmite on pancakes.” The strawberry she bites into sends fireworks through her jaw, fresh and sweet and cold from the fridge. _That’s the best strawberry I’ve ever had._ She thinks of the Doctor’s yellow pants, now sat somewhere on the TARDIS floor — or maybe still lost in the long grass. _Of course, it all makes sense now._

The Doctor shakes the whipped cream canister and squirts a line over her marmite. “What?” She spots Yaz's critical gaze. “Whipped cream goes with everything,” she smirks.

“Don’t say it,” Yaz shakes her head but she’s already laughing, “…don’t you dare.” Before she can stop her the Doctor is squirting a line a fluffy white cream across Yaz's chest at up to her chin. She squeals at the cold cream shocking her skin and the Doctor moves the tray so she can push her flat against the quilt. She’s transfixed by the sight of the Doctor’s tongue dipping out to lap the cream off her skin, the slight roughness of her tastebuds and the silky wetness of her saliva. When she reaches her neck, Yaz sits up and holds the Doctor in her arms.

“I want you to fill me,” the Doctor breathes, “…I wanna feel you everywhere, please.” When she pulls back her enlarged pupils hold an element of something new like she’s seeking something in Yaz's face.

“Yes,” Yaz nods— _of course_ —“I wanna be inside you. Everywhere.” It’s perfect. Utter connectedness. She strokes the wet folds in her lap with her fingertips. “Lay back.”

The Doctor complies and her arms go up above her head again.

“Rollover.” Her back is a constellation of rich birthmarks. Three in a triangle and two more further down, they look like weighing scales in the TARDIS. _I met her in October._ It feels fitting she’s a libra, always concerning herself with doing the right thing. Tipping the scales towards justice wherever she can, sorting out fair play, all across the universe. She kisses down her spine, past Zubeneschamali and Zubenelakrab, right down until she reaches her tailbone. “Lift,” she commands as she pulls up her hips. She kisses up the back of her thighs, licks at where her wetness has smudged down her leg. She looks so beautifully exposed like this — knees slightly parted with her ass in the air. Squeezing the soft flesh of one cheek, spreading her even more, Yaz teases at her entrance with her middle finger.

She pushes into her and it feels like the first time with the new angle. She can go so much deeper, feel and see so much more. She kisses up from her thigh to her cheek, leaving little nips and then soothing them with her tongue. The Doctor clenches around her fingers when Yaz swipes her tongue over her ass. She mewls under her touch, hips rocking slightly to encourage necessary friction. When Yaz sinks her tongue inside her the Doctor releases a low groan. It’s preposterous and gross and undignified. _It’s perfect. Connected. Everywhere. I love her._ The thought makes her pick up the pace. She wants to drive her over the edge, send her hurtling into pleasure so consuming she forgets they could ever be apart. Her hand spreads and squeezes and she comes with a gush of liquid down her thighs.

They collapse forward on the sheets, Yaz landing in the stars on her back, still sticky from the cream.

“I wanna do that t’you,” she sighs rearranging their bodies to look at one another.

“Just hold me,” Yaz replies. They lie chest to chest, legs tangled, arms wrapped around one another. “I love you,” she counts the freckles in her irises and the lines around her eyes. It can’t just be the tea. She’s the woman who fell to Earth, literally fell from the heavens right into Yaz's life. _Of course, I love her. I was born to love her. She’s the best person I’ve ever met._

“I love you, too.” It doesn’t surprise her at all. She knows she’d usually be apprehensive, could never believe such an unthinkable thing but now it feels right. _This was the way it was always meant to be._ “I really love you, Yaz.” Even if things change tomorrow she knows it’s true now. And that’s all that matters.

“Will y’stay with me?” She isn’t sure if she means tonight or forever but they’re one and the same in this timeless refuge.

“Yea,” her fingers trace Yaz's cheekbone. Her knee slides up between Yaz's legs and she rocks against it absentmindedly as all the love in the universe washes over her. “Yes, I’ll stay with you.”

They kiss again. Long and slow. They kiss forever — their tongues surpassing the boundaries of their own physicality, melding into one another until they exist in the same space at the same time. She feels sunken into the bedding, melted entirely. The soft sheets and the Doctor’s velvet lips are just as much responsible for the small orgasm that ripples through her as the thigh between her legs. She presses her face back up against the Doctor’s chest and enjoys the warmth of her skin against her face. She lays there wrapped up in her for an eternity, listening to the secret message in her hearts. _I love you. I love you. I love you._


End file.
